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quintessential. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

back in the day we could drive out east a bit and purchase long island sweet corn at any number of farmstands along the side of the road. it was a staple in summertime, showing up at every picnic or barbecue.

when i about 16, i flew out to see my brother and his family in central illinois. nothing compared to the view below from the air – cornfields as far as the eye could see. rich, green, thriving fields of field corn.

i return to the moment in that airplane so long ago, looking down on middle america, eyes wide-open, gobsmacked at how pristine those fields looked from the sky. because it is just as stunning each time in the air – even now, many decades later – this atlantic-pacific-gulf-of-mexico-canada crayon-outlined country of america.

and now, we drive across our state on the backroads, innumerable cornfields along the way. highway 81/W/11 coursing its way across wisconsin, on illinois highway 39, along route 151 across iowa, to the letter-named backroads of missouri. any time in the heartland will place you in generous fields of corn-green. it is the corn belt, after all. it is quintessential midwest.

it also seems quintessential that our country – this bright, innovative storehouse of science and data and brilliant minds – would be aggressively concerning itself with climate change – with scientific research and empirical evidence to avoid any further harm to this planet, to protect the fragility and balance of all-things-ecological, to further generative ideas in order to avoid continued or amped-up destruction of this-place-we-call-home, to embrace sustainable and responsible methods of lessening the very real threats of the fallout of rapidly changing climate and intentional negligence by humans.

it would seem pragmatic that the solar farms deep into the fields on the side of the county roads, the wind farms lining the highways also be considered quintessentially american, for these to be so prevalent that their energy production might be a fundamental expression of this country’s fierce protection of the environment.

we all learned early on the responsibility we had on our environment. keep it clean – the bottom line. and though i have in the past stopped people who have thrown trash out of their vehicle window or while walking on a sidewalk or a path, it is not likely that i would do that in every case anymore as i weigh individual circumstances in today’s much more violent world. but i cringe each time i see any such dereliction. “we each have impact,” i think every single time.

from the air or maybe even rushing by on the highway, one can’t see – doesn’t notice – the kwik-trip cups or mcdonalds bags, the plastic grocery bags and water bottles, the emptied ashtrays, the tires in the swale or the couch dumped in the pocket of brush on the side of the road. even walking the streets of small towns speckling this nation reveals a disheartening lack of concern about the nature of nature.

the feeling of responsibility needs to start at the top, for we “little people” can only do so much to protect this environment. our hands are not in the deep pockets of big money. they are – instead – clutching the water bottle or the fast food bag, waiting to dispose of them appropriately, carefully repurposing, recycling, composting, minimizing our waste, trying to make a difference.

never would i have thought that it would be necessary to have statements issued by the international court of justice – the principal judicial arm of the united nations – that would acutely ‘remind’ this country of its accountability in this crisis. never would i have thought that this country – this country – would be ignoring such passionate pleas for holding this planet in protected space. never would i have thought that these words “climate crisis is an existential problem of planetary proportions that imperils all forms of life and the very health of our planet” would be in such acute danger of being sloughed off.

the international court of justice stated that a “clean, healthy and sustainable environment” is a human right.

taking any route across this beautiful sea-to-shining-sea – flying above it or on its myriad of roads or track – eyes open – provides a profound reminder of what we should not be willing to sacrifice.

*****

“what you do will live beyond your lifetime.” (you make a difference © 2002 – kerri sherwood)

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this side of the corn. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

fall is coming on. there is no denying it. everything is starting to wane.

the sky is starting to gray. the corn will be soon plowed under and, one of these days, the cabbage fields will have to turn over, the yield from their crop slowed to a stop. the colors are changing.

george winston recorded an album called autumn. you listen inside his wistfulness as he toys with the emotions of the changing. the album was released in 1980 and, for me, that was a distinct time of heading into fallow.

some fallows last longer than the seasons and the tilted axis of the earth seems to evade warming sunlight. the seeds gather strength in the ground – centered in us, even without us nourishing them. and eventually, ever-so-slowly sometimes, the earth tilts back toward the sun and the orbital horizon is rebirth, spring.

it seems to happen fast – the waning. the ebb and flow of the cold. there is nothing as constant as change and, so, we need remember that in times of fallow. the tide – like the corn and the cabbage – will come and go, come and go. an ancient story.

we join hands with others on our path – they are quite possibly on the same ebb and quite possibly will be in the flow with us as well. they stand with us, they encourage us, they surprise us. the shapes of others appear – like revelations – from out of the mist of our fixed frame of reference. everything looks different.

standing on this side of the corn, gazing into the grayness of sky, the dance of color as it fades, i am finding – with much gratitude – that there are others standing right there with me, gazing as well. the wistful tugs at us; gravitational effect far from the sun but with promise of the pull. we stand still, roots under our feet, steadfastly hand-holding, looking at the horizon as it shifts.

and time passes and the seasons flow and flow and, eventually, the axis finally – at long last – tilts and the fallow ends and the seeds that were planted so long ago break through the frozen ground and we know that we have – together – affected even the tiniest change.

and winter comes as we stoke up, readying ourselves for the riches of spring.

*****

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cornfield. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

in the way that dads are corny, my sweet poppo was just that – a little bit corny. somehow, it seems it’s supposed to be that way. his humor was lighthearted and the way he repeated some jokes was comforting. “do you think the rain will hurt the rhubarb?” he’d quip. waiting just a few seconds, he’d respond to himself – if you didn’t beat him to it – “not if it’s in cans!!” and then he’d laugh. every time.

i think he was buying time to think when he’d quip about the rhubarb. it wasn’t like he was intently concerned about the rhubarb. matter of fact, i only remember them growing rhubarb maybe one or two years, back behind the house. and even then, it wasn’t like he was a huge rhubarb fan. i think the only way he liked it was with strawberries – in a pie.

but his jokes were harmless and predictably silly. no stand-up routine for him, he was just daddy-o, trying his best to carry on. and because he wasn’t a giant conversationalist – he turned that over to my sweet momma – he’d just fill in the gaps. “well, how do you like them apples?” he’d say.

i’m pretty sure he’d had loved the corn we grew in our backyard this summer. the squirrels and chippies had everything to do with this crop. they’d deplete the birdfeeder in mere hours, tossing kernels and seeds everywhere. i have no doubt where the cornfield came from. but it was pretty astounding to see. we suddenly became prolific mini-farmers.

it was everywhere. next to breck, our aspen. inbetween the ornamental grasses. under the birdfeeder. under the potting bench with our herbs. next to the garage. yesterday we found it in the front garden bed.

i could hear david’s dad columbus chuckle from the other side when we found it in the front garden. a cornfield-lover from way back, i figure he might have had something to do with that. we laughed as well, delighted in a – hmmm – corny kind of way.

for the longest time we left it all right where it was. there was something really pleasing about glancing out at the corn.

but then we decided it was time to pull it out, so that it wouldn’t suffocate our intentional plantings. we took pictures and then pulled it, thanking it for the entertainment it had provided.

outside on the driveway we talked to our westneighbors. we talked about our hummingbirds and our feeders and the birdbaths we had placed in our yards and the chippies and squirrels stealing seed and the birds gathering in the bushes. we were all zealous, loving the little creatures in our yards. “we’ve turned into our parents,” i noted and we all nodded and laughed.

“well, how do you like them apples?” i thought.

*****

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corn! [not-so-flawed wednesday]

surely this will attract the attention of agriculture lovers near and far. we – the tiniest farmers of them all – are growing corn.

i would like to say that we have deliberately planted corn, in an effort to have a cob or two, but this isn’t the case. the chippies are likely the generation alpha planters; they are messy at the birdfeeder and, while they are stuffing their little cheeks of birdseed, their tiny paws are flailing and birdseed is flying. they planted the corn and we were, frankly, astonished to identify it. in good-corn-fashion, i’m guessing it was knee-high-by-the-fourth-of-july, only we didn’t notice, as it blended into the ornamental grasses under the feeder. it’s nice to know our soil is good enough for corn.

i looked up if we could actually eat it, and stumbled into the georgia gardener walter reeves who said that “the seed used in bird food is delectable to birds, squirrels and chipmunks.” but “if the seeds sprout, you’ll get more of the same.” to his knowledge, “all of these plants would be edible by humans. but you might not want to eat them, because the varieties used in birdseed might not be digestible by humans. leave them for the birds,” he recommends.

nevertheless, we consider it a win. whether we were passively or actively farming, it grew and we are proud.

it is all beginning to make sense to me. all that time my sweet momma and poppo spent in arboretums and planting fields. all the time they spent watching the birds out their back windows. all the time they simply spent with each other, appreciating the idyllic opportunities that nature and outdoors and together bring.

i am guessing that somewhere – on another plane not too far away – my dad is watching. maybe he’s hanging out with columbus, who was pretty expert at the iowa-corn-in-which-he-was-raised. my mom is rolling her eyes at them, while they’re chuckling at the corn in our garden and maybe scoffing a tiny bit at walter. they’re paying no attention to her eyerolls.

they’re getting their yellow-plastic-tipped-corn-cob-skewers ready.

*****

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